Best of Intentions
by kiwipixel77
Summary: Vi's contract was ruined by another assassin. A new one. And not only has he threatened her position in Rome's Brotherhood, he seems to be dragging everyone along with him. Vi won't stand for it. And neither will he. OC/OC Brotherhood assassins. Romance maybe? We'll see.


**A/N: Hello friends! So this is a new story that popped into my head last night, and just ****_refused_**** to go away. **

**I'm surprised, really, at how little stories there are out there featuring Brotherhood assassins. You know, the ones Ezio assists and hires into the Brotherhood in, well, Brotherhood and Revelations? Yeah. They're kind of a big deal in those games, yet no one writes anything about them. Time to change that, I guess.**

**So this story features the assassins of Ezio's brotherhood in AC Brotherhood. OC's abound. And Ezio is there too, of course. This might turn into romance or not. I might just keep it friendship. Not sure yet. Let me know what you think.**

**I guess this is my attempt at refining my characterisations. Hopefully you like my characters. **

**There is swearing, by the way. Just a warning.**

**Anyways, read on please, and if you feel so inclined as to leave a review, I'd be very happy! I'd love some feedback of any kind!**

**Thanks, and enjoy!**

* * *

The assassin stood perched on the corner of a crumbling building, hidden by the shadows, as she searched the crowds below for her mark.

He shouldn't be too hard to find here. Nobles rarely came into the Port District. The Poor District now, she should say. And neither did assassins. No one came here often anymore.

Still, there was a certain…_allure_ to the place. She didn't know why, and she couldn't tell you. It could have been the derelict stone buildings that crumbled dust into the air and created a hazy atmosphere, mingling with the rotten-egg stench and the ripe tang of massed humanity in such a small space. It was perfect for staying hidden. Or it could have been the cobbled streets turned black and slicked with waste and blood and God knows what other foul fluids. Her prey could never get away easily. Perhaps it was because the people here had been left to their own devices, and crime and rape ran rampant through the streets like the mangy hounds that howled here. Even the guards feared this place. She would have no chance of being caught tonight.

But maybe, she thought, it was because the Port was filled with people who were more alert, more vigorous, more _alive_ than any others anywhere in Rome. The people here, despite the fouled rags hung from their gaunt bodies and the stench from their rotten mouths, had to fight tooth and nail and, often, blood in order to sludge through another gruelling day of simply _existing_. They were strong, and perhaps she admired them.

Whatever the reason, the Tevere Port of the City of Rome was where her contract would be found. Or should be. She'd been here for nearly an hour, silent and stone-still despite the relative safety she was in, and he still hadn't shown. Granted, she didn't know what he looked liked, but she could pick him out of this mire of animalistic citizens if there were a million of them. She was good at that.

She knew from the little detail the contract had given her that he had been here before. Alright, so he wouldn't show up in that gaudy attire that nobles wore. Not here. He would stick out like a sore thumb. And despite his frequent outings, she could deduce with near certainty that he wouldn't take to the dark alleys . Not if he wanted to leave with all his digits and features intact. She could expect him to be well-trimmed, too, unless he wore a disguise to appear more like the Animals. But he would have no need of a disguise. There were no guards nor authorities. Or assassins.

The light was fading and the last rays of the sun shone orange through the hazy air, bidding the Port and the better parts of Rome farewell as it sank into the west. The assassin went through the checklist in her mind like she did before completing every contract, deducing which path he would take and what he would wear and where she could hide to get the best advantage. Right now it was a medium-tall crumbled pile of stones that bore little resemblance to a sound structure. Just a side wall was all that was left, and the way it was angled gave her the advantage of having the sun to her back. Her target couldn't see her, and if he did, he'd have to squint hard, and by then he'd be dead. It was a little trick her Mentor taught her, and she took all his advice to heart. She smiled.

It was nice being back in Roma. She'd recently returned from a contract in France, and while the French were friendly, if a bit pompous, and the country was clean and beautiful, it didn't take away from the long hours in the saddle to and from the banquet in Paris. She didn't think she'd be able to sit for a week. But her Mentor welcomed her back with a warm smile and a 'good job, _Mercenario.'_ She'd only rested a day at the headquarters before heading out on her first home mission. And she couldn't be more thrilled.

An old man, stooped by age and covered in rags, rounded the corner slowly some thirty paces off. Her eyes shot to him. It was Gnarl.

An assassin had to be careful with whom they allied with, and you could never be too lenient. She had made a few deals with the citizens of Rome, and they tipped her off from time to time. Where her target was headed. What he looked like. What he planned next. It amazed her how much the people knew about things, and how much her targets blabbed. Didn't they know about the Brotherhood? The liberation? She scoffed. No. Nobles were too caught up in their own petty troubles to care about anything or anyone else. Not that she was complaining.

Gnarl was the only ally she had made in the Port District, and she'd hesitate to call him that. She trusted no one here, just like no one trusted each other. Still, the old man had yet to fail her. Perhaps it was because she'd threatened him at knifepoint that time in the alley when he saw her… finish a contract. But she didn't think he cared whether or not he lived or died. It was most likely because of the Florins. Ten for each helpful tip. Just because he was an Animal didn't mean she'd stiff him his fair share. It wasn't much, but here it was _everything._

Gnarl knew not to search for her, and he knew she was nearby. So he took a seat on some crumbling steps and rubbed at his gnarled knuckles. The assassin watched him like a hawk. Her target would arrive any moment now.

A blast of excitement shot through her body at the prospect and she had to calm herself. It wouldn't do to complete a contract so tense. She might mess up. Not that she ever did. Still, though, she had to be careful. _Patience is a virtue,_ her Mentor drilled into her time and again. _Not one I'm very good at, though._

What felt like a lifetime later, Gnarl smiled, and she could see his crooked yellow teeth, complementing the missing ones, flash in the dusk. His dirty beard, browned by the filth of the Port, wagged from side to side as he finally, _finally_ gave a nasty hacking cough. The assassin smiled.

And then her target round the same corner and gave Gnarl a disgusted glare. This was him. He was dressed in rags like the rest of the Animals but they were clean, like his skin, and he wrung his hands nervously as he stepped down the stairs. Gnarl grinned at his back.

He was not fat like so many other nobles, but he was well-built and well-fed, and despite his pathetic excuse of a disguise, she _could_ have picked him out of a million Animals any day. Even in the dark. She didn't need Gnarl's help, but she'd give him his due anyway.

His eyes darted from side to side when he stepped into the filthy, once-bustling market square as if he expected to be jumped from the shadows. Which wasn't an irrational fear here. Many Romans who entered the Port never left it. The single dim, grimy lamp in the Shithole barely illuminated his face, but he looked to be handsome. Shame. Normally the nobles had big noses or ugly moustaches or fat round bodies. She never tried to imagine her targets faces beforehand, but she couldn't help think he looked nothing at all like the rapist the contract said he was.

Apparently Handsome been on semi-regular nightly outings the past month or so to the Port's only brothel. It was co-owned by her Mentor, like most of the brothels around Rome, though she never understood why he invested in the place anyways. No one visited except the odd Animal who happened to scrape or beg enough Florins together and the occasional nobleman who dared venture deep enough into the Port to escape the curious eyes of guards and other nobles and their sharp-mouthed wives.

Handsome was young, barely a man, and he was visiting the brothel, which meant he couldn't be married yet. Perhaps his family was forcing him into an unwanted marriage. Maybe life in his lofty, lavish manse was _too tough_ and he needed an outlet. Whatever his reasons, it warranted no excuse for dragging her Mentor's whores into the alleys and having his way with them. Without pay. And so, he needed to go.

He was not doing a very good job of blending in, and the Animals gave him curious glances, no doubt sizing him up and reasoning if they could take him on and wrestle him of his money. He was tall, though, and strong, and they knew it wouldn't happen. It could if they worked together, but the Animals never did.

Handsome tread carefully through the piles of filth and sewage that gave the Shithole it's name. The Animals had the decency, at least, to dump their waste here instead of where they slept and beg, and the old market square was the foulest-smelling dirge in all of Roma. Even more so than the body-riddled Tiber. His caution gave him away as well, and the assassin smiled wider. This was _too_ easy.

He was nearing her perch slowly, and her heart started racing. She twisted her wrists, the hidden blades beneath itching to taste blood, and silently pulled her hood closer around. Her eyes bore into the poorly-lit face of Handsome, counting down until he was near enough.

_Ten._

Handsome cursed as he stepped into a pile of filth but kept walking.

_Nine._

Gnarl coughed again, not as disgusting, and this time it was his real one.

_Eight._

Some mange-crusted dog howled in the distance as the sun finally sank beneath the crumbled walls.

_Seven._

The lilting chatter of the whores in the streetlight a few blocks down could be heard over the moaning of their sisters plying their trade.

_Six._

The assassin felt so alert, so _alive_, just like the Animals, and she smiled darkly. Every nerve was on fire, every trained muscle tensed now, every sight, smell, sound so intensified, and she could see life and movement and every wriggling, crawling, squirming thing slinking through the muck and sewage and in every dark corner. Handsome's footsteps roared in her ears and his expensive cologne almost choked her.

_Five._

This was it. This is what she loved most about being part of the Brotherhood. The flash, the rush, the thrill of being on the hunt, of the feeling of her pounding heart and her own blood coursing through her veins just moments before she spilled another's. The _life_ she felt, so immense and pure and intoxicating, and _that_ is why, she realised, she liked the Port District. Every day here was a reminder, a glimpse, into what she loved best.

_Four._

There was a flash of movement in the darkness behind Handsome. Just another Animal, no doubt.

_Three._

Her target was not five paces from her now. If it were possible, her heart thumped even wilder.

_Two._

So close. _So close_. So-

Her heart dropped as she heard the familiar short hiss of a hidden blade sliding from its sheath. It was not her own.

_One-_

The dark shape came from the ally just beside her and she saw it only as she leapt from her perch and was falling silently through the hazy air. It happened so fast, but the assassin never hit her mark.

Her blade managed to slice into Handsome's arm instead of between his shoulders like she planned because he stumbled forward as the Shape swung wildly, barely managing to scrape his back. Handsome wasn't stupid, then. He'd seen his attack and the fault both attackers made.

She rolled to her feet, her world still wildly and ferociously pounding and moving, and with the practiced elegance and fluidity her Mentor graced her with, she turned around and managed to look into Handsome's shocked eyes before plunging her hidden blade into his neck. She held him up as he gurgled and tensed and finally shuddered a second later, and then she dropped him gracelessly into the filth of the Shithole. She whipped around, throwing knife already in hand, and hurled it where she last saw the Shape.

"_Fuck!"_

And just as soon as the life entered her body, it left, ebbing away into the growing dark, and she was stood there in the Shithole with Handsome's body at her feet and the Shape, a man, leaning with his back against a wall and her knife in his shoulder.

Quick thinking was a must for any assassin, and before the man could move, she had her hidden blade drawn again, still covered in Handsome's blood, to his throat as she held him to the wall.

Normally she'd move the body into the alley, but there were no guards and Gnarl was the only one looking.

"Who are you?" she whispered harshly, eyes burning a hole into the man's own. She couldn't see his face in the dark that pooled from the alley, but she noticed he frowned in pain. A moment later though, to her great surprise, he relaxed and smiled.

"You must be Vi."

_Viviana!_ she wanted to shout, but more pressing matters were at hand, and her trained mind went through another checklist in barely a moment.

He was wearing similar garb to her own, from what she could tell, but his hood, whether he'd had one or not, was not up, and her other hand had a tight hold on his short, well-kept hair. Not an Animal, then. He was quick, no doubt, and had talent in the shadows, as the Shape had shown her. Not a bumbling noble. He sounded young, too. Not much older than Handsome had been. And that blade. The hiss of the hidden blade. Only assassins had those, as far as she could tell.

So was that it? An assassin?

He _had_ to be. There was nothing else he _could_ be.

But she didn't know him. The Brotherhood was the only assassin's guild in Roma. And her Brothers never took contracts in the Port. They knew she enjoyed them, for some reason.

She tightened her grip on his hair and pressed the blade closer to his neck. "_I said_ who are you?"

His smile widened and she wanted to slap it off him. Didn't he know who she was?

"Ezio said you'd be pissed. Still, though, I didn't think you'd throw a knife at me." He winced a bit as if remembering the four inches of steel wedged between his collarbone and his shoulder blade.

Viviana stiffened at the sound of her Mentor's name.

"You know him?" The man grimaced. "How?"

"Friend of mine." He smirked at her scowl.

Alright. If he wanted to play like that, she would gladly oblige. To get her point across, she took the blade from his neck, slid it back home, and grabbed the handle of the knife. The man had barely a moment to register what she would do before she twisted it lightly and he howled in pain.

"Shh. They'll hear you." She didn't have to elaborate for him to understand she was talking about the Animals, not the guards. The bodies of their sick and old were never found, eliciting rumours throughout Roma that they cut them up, tore them apart, or simply ate them. The stories differed, but everyone knew them, and all were a little frightened.

_"Fuck!_ Dio, what's _wrong _with you?" he whimpered. Pathetic. She twisted harder.

"Me? What's wrong with _you?_ You ruined my contract, _bambino,_" she hissed through his laboured breathing. She shouldn't have answered him, but he was pissing her off. "So how do you know my Mentor?" She loosed her grip on the knife and waited for her answer.

He didn't give her one. Not soon enough for her, anyways. She leaned closer. "Do I need to make you cry again, Bambino? Or are you going to tell me?" She kept her hand on the knife, her eyes daring him to remain silent or even make a move.

He smiled again, though it was tainted by pain. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, Vi." She scowled at him and tightened her grip. He got the hint. "Ezio is my mentor as well."

"Is he now?" she asked skeptically, remaining cool and collected, when inside a fire was raging. So he _was_ an assassin. Of the Brotherhood.

"Yes," he winced.

"So you say."

They glared at each other for a long moment, the stench of the Shithole filling their noises but the moans and shuffles and squelches of the Port going unnoticed by either. Handsome was stiffening by her feet, and if she waited any longer it'd be much harder to drag him to the Tiber.

"Look here, _assassin,_" she seethed.

"Marco. Marco Adornetto Da Fir-"

"_Bambino,_" she cut him off. "I am patient. I have all night. So we can stand here like this and you can joke until I get tired of you and kill you. The Animals can do what they want then."

He narrowed his eyes. "Or?" he asked. She smirked. This one had balls.

"Or you can tell me what I want to know and I might let you live."

An Animal passed nearby, but whether by choice or because it was blind, it didn't stop to gawk at Handsome lying in the muck in the dark near the alley. The assassins paused, tensed, waiting for it to shuffle away. It did, and they both relaxed together.

The man smiled despite the pain. "Might? Ezio wouldn't be very happy with you."

She twisted the knife again and she saw him grimace as he tried to keep his face straight. "Yes. _Might._"

"Alright," he scoffed. "We'll see."

"You talk too much, Bambino. I might cut your tongue out."

She saw him hesitate. She could tell he'd normally call her bluff, but he wasn't so sure now. Her hand on the knife had stopped his retort.

"If you are what you say you are, then you are new to the Brotherhood, and therefore a _Recluta._ Maybe _a Servitore_."

"That one," he injected.

"Right. Second rank. Hardly important."

"Ouch."

"Do you know how many _Servitores_ have died during training?"

He paused, thinking. "A few."

"Ha!" she barked, then, remembering where she was, whispered, "more than a few."

He narrowed his eyes again. "I don't see where-"

"Do you think my Mentor cares whether or not he loses another _Servitore?_" That shut him up. And it felt good. "Not at all. It is _so easy_ to find willing recruits in the city."

His eyes wandered from her face, thinking. "Ezio said-"

"Oh, let me guess. _'The liberation of Roma has begun. We could use your skill in the Brotherhood. Fight with us, assassino!_' He pulled that one, didn't he?"

The man looked at her in reluctant admiration. She could do a pretty good impression of her Mentor when she wanted. But she saw the ghost of hurt flash in his eyes as well. She smiled wider.

"Adorable. Trust me, _Servitore Bambino,_ he doesn't care about you. And he won't come looking for you if, say, I saw you… _wander_ down an ally in the Port."

It was silent again, and the Animals of the Shithole went about their usual business, begging and skulking and just being and Animal, ignoring or oblivious to the assassins and the body in the dark. A breeze from the Tiber wafted through the square, rotting, bloated corpses mingling with the putridity of the Shithole.

But through the stench Vivianna smelled something different. Something… _nice._ It surprised her, really. The only nice thing she'd ever smelled here had been the overbearing fake flowery perfume the whores bathed in to cover the stench of stale sweat and sex and despair. It made her eyes water and throat swell but at least it wasn't waste and filth. But she smelled something else, now. Something like mint, maybe. It was fresh and clean and did _not_ belong here. She sniffed the air again, and pulled a disgusted face when she realised it had come from Bambino. He smelled good, and assassins didn't smell good. They didn't smell like _anything_, lest the breeze blow wrong and their targets catch them.

Either he wasn't an assassin or he was an even bigger idiot than she thought.

"I don't believe you."

Yes. An idiot, then.

"I don't care. Believe it or not. It doesn't matter to me," she waved him off. He glared at her, his usually smirking face betraying his emotions at last. "But if you care about your life then you'll do exactly," she twisted the knife and his jaw clenched, "_exactly_ as I say. Alright?" He nodded. "Good."

She stepped back as she unclenched her fist from his hair and patted him a couple times on the side of the face. She bit back a laugh as his eyes clouded over.

"So, _Bambino,_ you are an assassin, right?" He nodded again. "I guessed as much. You're wearing the same as me." She glanced down at his robes. "Nice. Not very dirty, are they? You've been on, what, two, three missions?"

"Five."

"Oh. Well done. Hardly a stain on them."

"Thanks," he spat.

"My pleasure."

He rolled his eyes but she ignored him.

"I don't know you. Haven't seen you before. You must have joined in the last month, no?"

"Three weeks ago."

"Impressive."

Her tone didn't lie. She _was_ impressed. _Recluta_ to _Servitore_ in three weeks? He must be good.

"Yep."

"And let me guess. You accepted this mission not knowing I'm the only one who takes jobs in the Port."

"Guess so."

"And how are you liking the assassin life?"

He shrugged, then gasped as the knife moved inside him. "It's alright."

She raised an eyebrow. "Just alright? You must _really_ love it if you came to the Shithole to intercept _my_ contract." He didn't move. "That was risky. I could have killed you."

He shrugged one shoulder this time, the one the knife wasn't biting, and smirked again. "Assassins take risks."

She laughed aloud at him, and it was a real laugh. "Yes they do, Bambino. That's the smartest thing you've said yet."

"There's more where that came from."

"Ha! Is there?" He smiled dangerously. "You know, I think I like you. I hope you don't say something stupid enough for me to kill you." He raised an eyebrow. "I think we could get along well."

_"Really?"_ he asked. Skeptical. Of course.

"I think so. I might still cut out your tongue, though. You'd be better company."

"Right."

"I _can't stand_ constant talking."

"Mm."

"Sal _always_ talks too much. And Mauro – God bless him – can't take a hint to save his life."

"I know."

She blinked, surprised. "Do you?" And then she remembered. "Of course. You've met them all." She gripped the knife tighter and leaned closer. "That is, if you truly _are _an assassino," she whispered.

"I am," he whispered back.

"We'll see."

He sighed.

She leaned back from him. "I do like your voice though. You speak in a different tongue. Maybe I won't cut it out."

"No?"

"You're not from Roma, are you Bambino?"

"Firenze, actually."

"Ah! That's where I've heard it! My Mentor sounds the same."

"He grew up not a block from where I was born."

"No shit! _Really?_" She was mocking him and he could tell.

Keeping her eyes on him, she reached down and grabbed his arm, pushing the release button and smiling when the hidden blade slid out with a sharp hiss. She brought it up to eye level and turned it around, pretending to examine it. "And my- I mean, _our,_ Mentor has finally graced you with your own pair. You must be so proud."

"Mhmm."

She glanced from his blade back to his face and smiled darkly. "Where's the talkative Bambino gone? I was kind of enjoying him."

"What do you want, Vi?" He spat again. He was tiring of the game at last. Shame. She was just getting started.

"It's _Viviana_. Remember that." She pondered for a moment, thinking how to humiliate him further. She was enjoying this. She didn't often get to be this cruel to others, and it wasn't in her nature, really. But Bambino had presented her with the perfect opportunity to refine her interrogation skills.

She heard Gnarl cough again, closer this time, and she realised he was probably waiting for his payment. Impatient old crone.

"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted."

The words hit her like a fist and the wind was knocked out of her. She widened her eyes in horror and stepped back from the man, letting go of the knife. She bumped into Gnarl, who was crouched and looting through Handsome's rags. Bambino smiled at her, triumphant, but the look was wiped from his face as he watched Viviana grab the old man by the shoulder and plunge her hidden blade into his stomach without a moment's hesitation. The Animal spluttered and gasped and thumped to the ground, shock etched into his features and surprise still swimming in his unseeing eyes.

"What-?"

She whipped around and pure burning rage was boiling up from inside her. The man cringed from the look on her face, orange from the light of the streetlamp.

"You – you – _bastardi! Idiota!_" she yelled at him. She stepped closer and he shrunk back even further. "Do you realise what you _just did?_"

He straightened at the accusation, on the defence. "Me? _You _killed an innocent! You broke the first tenet!"

She ignored him, rage still burning inside her. "You spoke of the _maxim!_ In public! And _here_ of all places!"

His next words were cut short and he paused. "Oh. Right." Her eyes bore into his. "Sorry."

She may have been faking before, but now she was _very_ angry. She clenched her fists and raised them as if to hit him. "Sorry? _Sorry?_ You think 'sorry' will fix this? I should kill you for that!"

He said nothing as he watched her calm herself.

It was no use. Nothing good would come of beating him or killing him. It was already done. Handsome was dead, like planned, but so was Gnarl, now. An innocent. She looked down at his body, pale in the hazy moonlight and twisted in death just like he'd been in life. He could have been sleeping. He normally slept in the filth of the Shithole.

"I had to," she whispered to herself. "He heard." She couldn't let Gnarl live. She'd be breaking the third tenet if she did.

_Never compromise the Brotherhood._

Strangely, she felt nothing. A bit of curiosity, perhaps, only because she'd never asked Gnarl his real name.

Well then. She knew now Bambino was with the Brotherhood at least. So she couldn't kill him.

She finally looked up to him and, for the first time, she could see his face in the grimy light from the street. He was handsome, maybe more so than Handsome himself, but her anger and hatred for him obscured any redeeming qualities he had and would most likely ever have.

"Pick him up," she demanded, nodding towards the bodies in the mire.

"My shoul-" the rest of his words were drowned by his howls as Vivianna stepped forward and yanked the knife from his body.

"Pick him up," she repeated, taking out a brownish rag and wiping the knife clean.

He obeyed without a word and stooped with a wince to lift Gnarl from the ground. "Not him." He looked to her questioningly before dropping the Animal and heaving Handsome onto his shoulders. He dirtied his clean white assassin robes and the tear in the fabric around his shoulder started blossoming red. He wouldn't smell like mint after this. She would have laughed if she wasn't so angry.

"Good. Take him to the Tiber. Don't be seen."

"What about the old man?"

She paused, glancing down at his gnarled old body one last time.

"Leave him. No one will miss him."

He nodded as he shifted Handsome on his shoulders into a more comfortable position and waited for further instruction.

"You want an invitation? _Go._"

"Right." He turned around and walked a few paces, grunting under Handsome's weight. She watched him try not to slip on the slickened cobbles as she took a deep breath, drawing in the Shithole's perfume, letting her months of meditation practice take effect and wash over her like water. Tonight had been bad, but it wasn't a total disaster. She'd be fine. She'd have to explain Bambino's shoulder to her Mentor, but she wouldn't be punished for that. He had interrupted _her_ contract, after all.

And if anything was gained from this, maybe it was a pain-in-the-ass _Servitore_ with whom she could push around, it seemed. She held the _maxim_ incident over him as well. Maybe she'd take advantage of that.

Before he rounded the same corner Handsome and Gnarl had used, she called him.

"And Bambino?"

"Hm?" He turned around with effort, almost hidden again by the shadows.

"Visit the Dottore. You could get God knows what infection from this Shithole." She smiled darkly and added, "and I wouldn't want you to get sick, now."

She couldn't see his face across the square, but she felt him scowl as sure as she felt the shit beneath her boots and the Tiber breeze on her skin.

* * *

**In case you're not Italian, like me, here's some translations.**

**_Mercenario: _****Mercenary. Sixth rank of the guild.**

_**Dio:**_** God.**

_**Bambino:**_** Baby, young child. Used here as a derogatory term and nickname for the new assassin.**

_**Recluta:**_** Recruit. First rank of the guild.**

_**Servitore:**_** Servant. Second rank of the guild.**

_**Firenze:**_** Florence.**

_**Bastardi:**_** Bastard.**

_**Idiota:**_** Idiot.**

_**Maxim:**_** Maxim. It's the "Nothing is True. Everything is Permitted" thing the assassins say.**

_**Tenet:**_** Tenet, principle, or belief. The Creed has three. **

_**Dottore:**_** Doctor.**


End file.
